Love is but a Fairytale
by Constable Kookie
Summary: Harry realizes that loving Ginny was a duty he fulfilled for the Wizarding World. It was a mistake and now its costing him his life.


**Love is But a Fairytale**

**This is my first Harry Potter fic. I have no idea if its good or not but hopefully you guys enjoy it:)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

_I'm sitting in a cellar with poison coursing through my blood. The hero of the Wizarding world who, at one time, would not have surrendered when confronted with Death now anxiously awaiting Death to claim his life in her steely talons. One thing I can tell you is that my 'knight' in shining armour will not be coming to rescue me from the predatory curse that can only be lifted by the kiss of true love should one live in a fairytale. I guess I should start from the beginning for you to understand the inane prattle of a dying man._

I _guess, like every other fairytale, my story started with a 'Once Upon a Time.' I grew up in an abusive household, parents dead at a young age. I did all the chores while getting barely enough food for all my hard work while my cousin was showered with love in the form of materialistic items and the comforting presence of a parent._

_For that reason Cinderella has always been my favourite story. I felt that I could relate to her plight. I would dream of a beautiful princess, her face masked but her fiery red hair would swish around her face in glittery rivulets as I twirled her in my arms. Her laughter would brighten my life by chasing away the darkness that followed me like a pack of rabid dogs, fighting for the last piece of supple meat._

Uncle Vernon handed his nephew a list consisting of all the chores he expected to be completed upon his arrival. Harry was then sent to work in the garden with only a glass if water to sustain him.

The sun was beating mercilessly down on a ten year old boy as he pulled the gnarly roots of the stubborn weeds that littered the rocky terrace in the backyard. He watered the colourful flower beds that he had, painstakingly, kept alive through the chilly winters and blistering hot summers. He grabbed the lawn mower, it's handle two inches above his head, his feet barely touching the ground as he moved the loud machine across the green grass. Although Harry didn't mind ploughing with the machine as it was just doing what it was designed to do. Just like him.

Once evening came, Harry had finished with the lawn and had cleaned the house in such a manner that even the Queen of England would find no fault. Harry had learned of her from his tattered, second-hand textbooks. Many people would have been honoured to work for her.

Vernon gave Harry a piece of toast and some leftovers before sending him to his cupboard under the stairs. He imagined that the difference between working for the Queen of England and the Dursleys was that the Queen would pat his head before providing him with a sufficient meal consisting of an omelette and buttered toast and tea. He would sip the tea with the grace of a noble, his pinky finger jutting outwards. He had always wanted to try that.

Soon after, the day of his eleventh birthday arrived and with it the message that he was a wizard. However, he hadn't been able to read the content of the letter until a few days after when Hagrid forcefully broke down the front door to a cave located in the middle of some sea. Harry had been awed and all thoughts of evil cousins and uncles and a pretty, faceless girl with a warm laugh had been forgotten as Harry got caught up in the excitement of learning magic.

During his first year, Harry had battled a troll and defeated the Dark Lord for a second time. He had experienced the thrill of riding a broomstick, the wind whistling through his ears as the ground came up to meet him at a frenzied speed with vomit-inducing clarity. He had been subjected to the cheers of the crowd as they chanted his name after he 'caught' the snitch. He finally belonged. It was during this year that he discovered the Mirror of Erise.

He could still vividly remember the images of his parents, permanently engraved in his mind. It was at Hogwarts that he had discovered the comfort of a parent. It had caused a flutter in his chest as his eyes brimmed with tears. Thus, he had come to regard Hogwarts as a home. And all thoughts of fairytale endings seemed frivolous and unimportant when compared to the comfort, indirectly offered by his parents, rampant in the forgotten halls of Hogwarts. Thus, all thoughts of riding into the sunset with a faceless, red-hair witch were pushed to the back of his mind.

_I had always been enamoured with Hogwarts. She resembled a life-size version of those castles that stood out in the background, the home to whichever princess the book was discussing. She stood proud and resilient, offering a home to every witch and wizard to enter her doors with the intent of gaining precious knowledge. Heck even people like Voldermort and Snape found a home in her. I guess I'm starting to sound corny and sappy. If anyone accuses me of that I'll blame it on the poison the bitch fed me. I'm writing this as my airways are getting clogged with mucus. I'm trying to swallow it but it just seems to emulsify the more I try. I guess I never realized how precious air was as of today._

_It was during the second year in which I experienced true fear. What with Aragog's lair in the Forbidden Forest and the monster that dwelled underneath the castle. It was then that I truly realized what being the Boy Who Lived meant. At least I understood what it meant partially. At that time, it only meant that the chances of me making it to 20 years of age were slim. I realized, some time after, it meant playing the hero by subjecting oneself to the expectations of the Wizarding world._

_That was also the year I met Ginerva Weasley. There were no fireworks or that butterfly feeling when I first saw her standing on the stairway. There was nothing. Though she must have felt something because she became flustered every time we were in close proximity. I never felt anything though. It was done differently in fairytales. Love at first sight. Should have known then that something was wrong._

When Harry had returned home for the summer, he had been the victim of his Uncles's wrath as per usual. However, his Uncles's fear of being turned into toad allowed Harry to experience a somewhat normal, albeit a boring, summer. Well until Dobby appeared followed by a warning by the Ministry of Magic that Vernon realized that there would be no consequence to how he treated his nephew. Luckily, Harry was rescued by Ron and the twins. The rest of the summer passed in a blur of adventures and the laughter of a family that loved each other.

During Harry's second year, he had been accused of being Slytherin's heir, broken fifty school rules to satisfy his curiosity, and defeated Voldermort for a third time. He had experience the adrenaline-pumping form of fear as he escaped Aragog's clutches and battled a basilisk. He would have died if it hadn't been for Fawkes.

_Ginny had been lying on the hard ground, her fiery red hair encasing her like a halo. I had imagined this scene several times in the company of my cupboard with the rickety bed and the stuffed blue teddy bear that was missing an eye and only one ear and the torn and ragged book of fairytales that gave the impression of being read several times. I stole the bear and fairytale from Dudley's room. He had forgotten the existence of these items, given to him when he was just a toddler, because better things had come along. Just like Harry had been forgotten, by the Wizarding world, because a saviour had appeared. Harry Potter the Saviour._

_Anyways this is getting a little too emotional for my taste. So back to the story at hand. The third year passed with little incident unless you take into consideration Sirius Black being my godfather and innocent. It was the fourth year that still gives me nightmares._

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